Devil's Dance
by Carpe Diem Baby
Summary: The life of a traumatized young girl is turned around when she meets Dante. But an ugly past, temptation & secrets can change everything. M for language, violence & possible lemon s . Dante/OC
1. Chapter 1: A Hell Of A Night Out

**Disclaimer: **Dante and all other mentioned DMC characters belong to Capcom and I take no ownership of them.

**Author's Note:** I realize this chapter is somewhat lengthy and slow, but it was fun to write. I promise most chapters after this won't be _as long_ as this, because it's a lot of reading. I do hope you enjoy though, and stay with me until the real plot picks up! Happy reading!

Chapter 1 – A Hell Of A Night Out

Much to Dante's dismay, the city's demon-slaying gigs and excitement had decreased to a numbing state, where Dante apathetically wasted his days away, sitting before his desk, comfortably leaned back in his chair, reading magazines and listening to music that he barely noticed was playing at all. He snacked on the commonly consumed strawberry sundae and large pizza, but never bothered to throw away the remains of it, ultimately leaving the place a chaotic haze. Patty Lowell stopped visiting after a while, which at first appealed to Dante, but he began to think about all of his times with the child and didn't realize he developed a relationship with her to the extent that he would actually miss her. He didn't admit it, though. Morrison never came in with many jobs and he didn't even _want_ to see Trish or Lady, considering the debt he'd been in.

But hell, he couldn't pay them back if he didn't have any god forsaken jobs. How else would he get paid?

Dante had even run out of things to read, and had no business buying anything new. Not if he didn't have the money. Typically, that wasn't his attitude. Given the circumstances, and his financial debt, he was cornered. God knew how much he could add to his tab before getting the business from the people from the pizza place, and he decided a magazine or other reading material wasn't a good place to blow whatever money he had in his pocket. _Fuck it_, Dante thought. _I don't have a goddamn dime in my pocket. I can barely get food, like hell I can buy a magazine._

So what was he going to do?

The only thing he could do was read the _older_ things he had, not that it was any fun to him, but it was truly his only option. He shuffled through the large stack of reading material he never bothered to throw away, the same way he had stacked pizza boxes and the bowls of his sundaes. He started from the top of the stack and worked his way down, recalling the articles and pictures that lie in each magazine, Dante's memory vivid as if he was reading it just now. Toward the very bottom of the stack was a newspaper, thin and somewhat grimy looking, but when Dante examined the paper and noticed that it was dated seven years ago, he could understand its unattractive condition. Nevertheless, he was interested in what happened seven years ago, and without really reading the paper, strode over back to his desk and rested his boot clad feet on the surface of the table, leaning back in his chair and opening the newspaper. He read the paper, almost bored of it until he noticed something that made him wince a little. He stared at the sentence with disgust—"LOCAL MAN'S MURDER MOVES ENTIRE CITY". Not that Dante disapproved that the town paid respects to the dead man. There was something else behind it. Something Dante didn't want to run back to, but he couldn't stop himself from reading.

"Beloved father, husband and brother's life was taken yesterday night at approx. 3:14 AM, by the hands of an unknown man. While investigators are still working on the case, the city held a memorial in order to honor the big-hearted and strong man…" Dante couldn't read it anymore. He chucked the newspaper across the desk and onto the floor, walking toward the window.

It was easy for Dante to forget about what he read, as long as he forced himself to—which he gladly did. He looked out the window, the extensive sky's intricate shade of blue fading into a shadowy night sky, pierced with stars and embracing the moon. He sighed at the look of the crimson sunset, considering plans for the evening. He saw a car pull up to the lot of his shop, _Devil May Cry_,and instantly recognized the figure walking out of the car.

_Shit, it's Lady._ Dante didn't want to see her. He told her he'd have the money months ago. He didn't have it.

Almost panicked—although masking it very nicely, Dante grabbed his leather coat and tossed it on; his two guns attached to his side, and opened the door.

"Sorry, you can't come in," he said. "I was just about to leave."

"Where do you think you're going? You got money to pay me," Lady reminded, already acknowledging Dante's plan to flee from his economic dilemma. She didn't pay any mind to Dante's orders and stepped inside anyway.

"Can we do this another time?" Dante asked, placing his sword behind his back. "I've got stuff to do."

Lady rolled her eyes and gave Dante a hard, aggravated stare. He smirked just to piss her off and slammed the door behind him, as Lady continued to gawk at the closed door of the shop.

Like Dante had any idea where he was going. Wherever his feet took him is where he was going. Where he lay his head was his home, but where would that be? Lady knew damn well there were no jobs available and there haven't been many for a while, but she didn't care that much to go after Dante.

* * *

><p>Like Holden Caulfield, Laine believed almost everybody was a "phony", except for kids. She admired their innocence, adored their simplicity. She spent most of her days at work, and whenever she was home, she was generally babysitting to make money on the side. She liked hanging around kids, though, in a non-pedophile sort of way. She liked talking to them because she found them so damn funny when they acted mature, using big words and the like. But tonight was different.<p>

Laine took her job seriously, although she didn't take her co-workers seriously, and in all honesty, found little to no entertainment in them. She bonded with mostly her patients—being a nurse and working so closely with people in need, but she had no respect for 97% of the people she worked with, especially not the doctors. The doctors were cocky, impatient, arrogant and somewhat condescending to her. She had little respect for the nurses, although she was a nurse herself. She didn't like to admit it too much but she was fully aware—she _did_ have a holier-than-thou attitude, _especially_ toward other nurses. She didn't like how they were all married to doctors, how they weren't as passionate for the job as she was, how they treated some patients—really, the list could go on when it came to Laine. Nurses were very iffy for Laine. Sometimes she liked the lot of them, other times they were rotten, but for the most part, she was indifferent toward them. Laine did, however, like the pharmacists. She liked their down-to-earth personalities, how most of them were just content with what they were doing and didn't complain—of course there were exceptions with everyone; she loathed some pharmacists, loved some doctors and respected certain nurses more than herself. Those exceptions didn't surface too often though.

The reason why tonight was so different, though, is because her friend Jane invited her out. She was asked out numerous times, but generally rejected most of them, if not all of them. Today had been different because Laine had literally nothing to do, and gave up on declining Jane's offers. She knew that she would be thoroughly bored just like she had been the past week and she didn't quite understand herself when she declined Jane (and her boyfriend Michael's) invitation to their apartment on both Tuesday _and_ Thursday of the same week. She knew real good that she didn't have a damn thing to do, with a broken TV and no good books to read. On top of all that, her nephew and cousin-in-law were out of town, as she spent most of her time babysitting the son of her deceased brother, Castor. She grew attached to her sister-in-law Katherine after the death of John, but she found herself mostly fond of Castor, the young man who resembled her brother more than she'd ever seen in her life. He was like a little piece of John, still with her. But that wasn't the reason why she was so emotionally involved with her nephew. She was so close with Castor not because of his role in her life as her nephew, but because she knew that inside, she was still a kid, just like Castor.

Either way, Laine found herself studying her appearance in the mirror. She knew damn well that Jane was a cheap ass and wouldn't take her anywhere nice, so she wondered why she changed out of her general scrub attire; sweatpants, t-shirt, hair in a sloppy bun. But instead, there she stood wearing dark wash skinny jeans that had been cuffed at her ankles, an olive green button up shirt with a loose fit, and a black leather jacket to go over it. God knows why she even tried. Laine saw no reason to put on much makeup, due to the lack of blemishes, and she knew her eyelashes called for no mascara; neither did she need eyeliner because the rims of her eyelids were already naturally dark. She was ready to go, and once she got in the car with Jane, she instantly received compliments, though she was never too fond of compliments, not at all.

She believed anyone that said anything to her "just to be nice", wanted something out of her.

* * *

><p>"No Name…?" Laine scanned the neon words above the entrance and shook her head. "You took me to a strip joint?"<p>

"It's not a strip joint," Jane said. "Otherwise, I wouldn't go. It's just a bar."

"I don't drink," Laine argued.

"You don't have to; they have all sorts of things. Come on, you'll love it," Jane said, tugging at Laine's golden and perfectly tanned wrist. "They have live music and the people here are the nicest in the city." Jane continued. Laine shook her head and sighed, entering the bar.

Laine scanned the people with her oceanic, royal blue eyes. Just by the looks of them she could tell they were rotten people. The way they all sat around and let out illegitimate laughs, the way they would dance with each other pretending they meant it, how some of them acted flirtatious with someone else even though they probably were already in a relationship. She didn't like it whatsoever. The "live music" was easily the best thing to come out of this experience, although the music completely and utterly sucked. But she sat at a table with Jane anyway, just because she didn't want to come off as a boring bitch—not that Jane didn't know her well enough.

Laine was instantly bored when she entered the bar and gave audience to Jane's hospital spiels, her relationship issues and commentary of the music that was playing. Laine wasn't all that of a talker, but was one hell of a listener. She should've been a therapist, she knew. But you'd also have to have been a talker, an advice giver. To what all Jane said, Laine had no rebuttal. Just the casual "oh I see" and "Right, you're right. That's very interesting". But Jane didn't like having Laine around for talk; she knew Laine was a pessimist; she was negative, constantly miserable and always apathetic. Far from wild, although extreme, Laine still gave Jane that vibe; that genuine, air-cleaning ecstasy. Nevertheless, Jane did enjoy Laine's company. Laine was compassionate, childish and original; gentle, humane and different. Somewhat hopeless, bleak and conceited, Laine always knew what to say.

Laine was pessimistic.

Nope, she was realistic.

Laine was arrogant.

Well, at least she had a reason to be.

Laine was immature.

She preferred youthful.

To a point, however, Jane's talking just became too much, even for Laine. She was grateful to Jane's boyfriend Michael to have dropped by, with three or four other doctors. Although she didn't like doctors, they saved her at that moment, from Jane's endless rambling. All of the doctors—Brittany, Noah, Justine and Michael—had been thrilled to have actually seen Laine some place other than the hospital. It was weird, like watching a dog walk on its hind legs. They never expected to see Laine, of all people, at a bar.

Despite her shallow distaste toward the eventless doctors, she didn't want to leave too early and come off rude in any sort of way—as arrogant and condescending as she could be, she still had common manners. To her dismay, however, a little unfortunately, the chord that was struck on the live musician's guitar also struck with her a little bit. That progression. G, D, E Minor. F, C, D. That was the progression, the way it was strummed, the way the cymbals of the drum would slowly shake their way into the song…it was painfully familiar. Laine recalled her latest memories with her father and her earliest memories with John, she remembered driving to school with the two, and this song would constantly come on. She used to completely adore the song, but after the loss of both John and her father, the song had become bittersweet to her—more bitter than sweet. Nostalgia had penetrated through her mind and accessed her heart, spreading like a disease all around her. She began to lose senses and her head began to spin, all of this because of the song. It even affected her physically and she absently released the lonesome and regretful tears that slowly constructed in her perplexingly beautiful sapphire eyes, that color deeper than the floor of the ocean, richer than gold. She couldn't let anyone see, she couldn't even admit it to herself, struggling to be the strong woman she strived to be. She instantly excused herself from the table, silently praying that no one had seen the drops of bittersweet reaction that drenched her eyes.

She stepped out of the bar, unnoticing of those around her. Laine never considered herself all that of a smoker, although she never missed a chance to smoke in her most extreme states of feeling. She, for some reason, always had a pack of Marlboro cigarettes on her, and occasionally a lighter. To her contentment, she did have a lighter on her today. Smoking was her very private and guilty act, which she wanted none of whatever friends she had to see, that included the doctors and pretty much everyone that was invited to tonight's get together. She reached for her pocket, and pulled out a cigarette, putting it to her mouth and lighting it carefully. She recalled the one situation in which she burnt her thumb on the lighter and had no desire of any such event reoccurring. To her chagrin, her lighter was out. _Great, that's exactly what I need right now._ In frustration, she groaned, probably the most annoyed and enraged groan to have ever been let out, and dropped the cigarette, crushing it with her shoe.

"Damn it, fuck it all!" she grunted, furrowing her rich, chocolate brown hair by her flawlessly tawny tinted hands. She was upset, not only because she couldn't have her cigarette, but because she was upset about not having the cigarette. She wished that there was some more effective and less harmful way of relieving her stress, and in frustration, she began to pace in circles.

"Whoa, there. Settle down princess; don't dig a hole in the ground."

Laine, surprised at the unexpected comment, looked to her side and saw a shadowy figure standing before her. She couldn't see all too well due to the lack of sun, because she was blind as a fucking bat, but that didn't cease her interest. The voice was new to her, strange. Obviously it belonged to somewhat she hasn't met before. She stood still, as the figure approached her. Getting closer, she still couldn't see too well. Other than, he was probably a whole damn foot taller than she was.

"Need a lighter, babe?" There the voice was again. She could tell just by the way the man spoke, he was lazy, but his voice, it sounded so husky, so confident. Somewhat cranky, even.

"No, I'm all right." She replied, not sure where to look. She couldn't see the man.

"If you say so," the man sighed. "Sure as hell didn't sound like you were all right." He added.

"What do you mean?"

The man smirked in the darkness, and studied the girl. Unlike her, his vision was superb in the pitch darkness and he noticed right off the bat that the young lady was squinting. It amused him a little, the way she cocked her eyes and squeezed them together, as if they would improve her vision at all. The second thing he noticed was her breathtakingly luscious brown hair, dark and intense in color, it _did_ look almost back in the dark, but he could still notice a minor brown flavor applied to it. He was somewhat interested in the way she parted her hair, a weird subject of interest, he knew, but he didn't see many girls like it. There was no line in her hair, just a point. Hard to explain, but from that point, her hair went outward from that point. Like the rays of the sun moving out from the core. Her bangs were parted to the far side and fell over her right eye almost covering it completely. Her skin, the man noticed, was very rich and golden. Too nice of a color to live in this city. But he also noticed, he had seen this girl some place before. Though, he couldn't put his finger on where.

In spite of his fascination with the girl's physical appearance, the man got around to answering the question. A smirk grew upon his lips again, and he flared his arms in the air, mimicking her frustrated groan. Her interested facial expression dropped almost instantly as he did that, and her face became evident with mortification and embarrassment, as the man spotted her tanned cheeks turn almost reddish in color.

"You heard that?"

"I think the whole town heard that," the man laughed. Laine only smiled briefly, a humiliated and uneasy smile, and then looked away. Now she was unsure of what to say.

Then the man said, "Are you coming in?" as he opened the door of the bar. Laine listened carefully for a moment, and still heard the song—"Freebird"—was playing. She shook her head that time.

"No," she answered, her voice small and feminine; completely opposite of the man's. "In a few minutes. Not now though." She explained.

The man merely shrugged and said, "Suit yourself," before walking into the adult hangout.

* * *

><p>In between Dante and Laine were there two seats—one empty seat, closer to Laine, and one seat occupied by a man beside Dante. Neither did Dante or Laine notice they were sitting so close together, but they were both so bored to have spiraled into oblivion to their surroundings. Laine sat with her colleagues for a while, and then excused herself after about twenty minutes about their mindlessly stupid complaints about working in the office and having a malfunctioning relationship and not making enough money and having no time for themselves and all of that bullshit. She got so fed up of them, pretty much everyone at that point, and sat by herself at the bar, although she did politely excuse herself, her body language was far from polite. Laine took a few opportunities smoking but hardly ever drank alcohol, and now was no time to start for her. It was hard for Laine to get addicted to hardly anything, so that wasn't the reason why she didn't ever drink, but knew herself pretty well, and she knew that her extremities were always masked. If she was to get high or drunk, whatever she felt would probably come forth stronger than ever before. That being said, she feared bombing her coworkers with her bitterness and hatred toward them, potentially causing her lifelong humiliation and regret, or even losing her job.<p>

What freaked her out a little more though, was the man that shifted a seat over, and began to strike a conversation with her. It wasn't that he wanted to talk to her, just that he made her uncomfortable. He didn't even come off too strong and props to him for being subtle, but still, there was a different atmosphere about him, something that made her instantly uneasy, maybe it be the way he spoke, she didn't know. She didn't want to, however, and tried her very hardest to remain uptight.

"What are you doing alone here?" the man asked, leaning on his arms that were set on the counter ahead. Laine tried her best to not make too much eye contact, although she did glance at him and smile very slightly, just barely. He had black hair, pushed back and sort of long, looking like one of those rich, Ivy League bastards. His skin was rather pale, but what really threw her off were his eyes. They were abnormally hazel, an ominous shade of yellow, somewhat pale, at the same time, rather dark.

"I'm not alone, actually." She answered.

"Not with a guy?"

Laine shook her head, not really looking at the man. The man smirked, his tongue dancing in his mouth. Laine could feel the man's eyes, violently stabbing at her as she tried her best to divert her gaze away from him.

"So then can I buy you a drink?" the man continued.

"No, I don't drink." said Laine.

"Come on baby, have some fun." This guy wouldn't give up, would he? Kept on pressing until she'd lose it. She was already starting to, and it was evident when she pierced the mysterious guy with her narrowed, irritated eyes. The flirtatious figure, however, wasn't in the least bit intimidated, and was as a matter of fact, somewhat, if not completely, pleased by Laine's annoyance. He was almost thirsty for the sort of reaction he'd received, and she was a great source. _This guy sure is an ass,_ Laine couldn't help but think, and she had no knowledge of what he was capable of doing.

Meanwhile, Dante was listening in on the conversation, instantly sure of the man and his capabilities, and remained calm, almost absent until it began to reach its climax.

"How bout I get you something non-alcoholic?" the man suggested. Laine laughed, condescendingly, almost. That arrogant, holier-than-thou attitude beginning to expose itself.

"How about I leave? Good day, sir. Have a wonderful life." She answered, leaving a few bucks at the counter and leaving for the door. She was somewhat grateful that none of her colleagues had seen her leave the bar or she'd have been bombarded with their questions and would find herself humiliated by the man that followed her. She noticed that the obnoxious man had been following her. She wasn't completely aware of a third person, however.

"You answered me wrong," the man said from behind her. She froze, suddenly hearing the difference. It was guttural, low, and threatening. She gulped, slowly turned around, surprised—although she didn't show it—to see a gun pointed at her. The man was no longer a man, and became something very familiar to her childhood. It explained the eerie intentions of the man, the menacing eyes. He wasn't a man at all. He was a demon.

Laine chuckled lightly, a little nervously, but they went unheard when the sound of two gunshots pierced the night. The first one threw her back onto the ground; the second one went straight through the demon. That wasn't the end of the gunshots, however. She kept looking at the hellish creature as it fell to ground, impaled with numerous bullets. Once the demon fell, Laine did too, right after she looked at her shoulder. She'd been shot.


	2. Chapter 2: Formally Acquainted

Chapter 2: Formally Acquainted

Laine woke up in a daze, her head spinning and heart throbbing in the unfamiliar place. She wondered if she was dead or maybe taken hostage by a demon when she woke up. Laine tried her hardest to turn on her right shoulder, but when she felt a staggering pain infect her shoulder, she let out a pained whimper. She didn't have to look at her shoulder to recall what happened, but then she wondered when it happened? How long has she been out? All these questions clouded her mind as she walked through the halls of the unfamiliar place. She held her shoulder as she walked around, still in the clothes she wore from that night, and she was unsure of where to turn until she heard a familiar voice.

"And don't put any goddamn olives on it like you did the last time,"

Laine had found herself in front of a doorway, somewhat, and noticed a man sitting back in a chair, a telephone to his ear. His feet, which were embraced by somewhat heavy looking boots, rested over the table. Laine's mind started clearing up when she realized that she could see clearly, and that's when she realized: _That's the same voice I heard in the dark._ Laine cleared her throat, afraid to take any few steps forward.

And that's when she heard a second voice, deep but collected, that said, "You and your pizzas. Have you even paid the place back yet?"

The white haired man, who Laine noticed, was also wearing red, hung up the phone and rested his head over his hands. "Nope," he answered lazily. "It'd help if I got the money."

Laine felt her wound begin to sting her and moaned, almost inaudibly, as she held her right shoulder. It had been covered at this point, but as a nurse, Laine noticed it wasn't covered too well. Clearly this man knew nothing about healing wounds. She cleared her throat and slowly walked into the room she had been standing before, nervously and slowly. She still held her shoulder.

The white-haired man was the first to hear her, thus he was the first to turn his head and notice her. "Good morning sleeping beauty," he announced, almost sarcastically. She didn't say anything but stopped where she was.

"How long as I out?" was the first question she asked out loud. "Why am I _here_?" was the second.

"You were out for about three days," the white haired man replied nonchalantly. He was still in his very comfortable position and it bothered Laine, somewhat, that he was sitting so carelessly. It was her OCD kicking in.

"So why am I _here_ instead of a _hospital_?" she asked again, still holding her shoulder. No answer. There was a long, pregnant silence, which was awkward in its own way, and a little disappointing to Laine to not receive an answer. She still found it strange, that no one wanted to answer and even though she wanted a reply, she was grateful to have someone break the silence.

"Nice to meet you young lady, my name's Morrison," the deeper-voiced man stood up and strode over to Laine, shaking her hand. He was a brunette, with a strong build and firm handshake. His most prominent feature, Laine noted, was his moustache that covered his mouth almost entirely. "And this guy here is Dante. You'll be staying here until we get to the bottom of all of this."

"Nice to meet you," Laine replied politely, shaking Morrison's hand gently, her soft and tan hand feeling the strength of Morrison's grip. He let go, though, and Laine found that a perfect time to ask all of the questions that were dimming her mind. "I can't go to work, can I?"

"You'd better not," Laine heard from the other side of the room. It was Dante. "Don't want you getting attacked by a demon again."

"Well…what am I gonna do then?"

"Sit back and relax, until we can think of something." Dante answered. Laine nodded solemnly and sat on the couch, in front of the black TV, staring blankly. _Sit back and relax? This guy's gotta be fucking me! _

"I'm out of here, Dante." Morrison said, standing in front of the doorway, a hat now latent upon his head. "I'll come back later with a solution to all of this. Stay put until then." And he left.

Laine let out a puff of anxiety as she held her shoulder, feeling the pain push against her again. Dante's feet dashed off of the table and he pushed his chair back, pacing over to the couch.

"Well?" he said.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to watch TV or something?"

"No." Laine answered.

"Well you don't mind if _I_ do, do ya?" Dante interrogated. Laine only shook her head. Dante nodded and sat beside Laine, reaching over her for the remote.

"You know, you could always ask me to hand you the remote. I would be happy to." Laine informed, somewhat irritated by Dante's obnoxious behavior.

_What a snot,_ Dante thought before answering the brown-tinted brunette. "Well I got the remote now," Dante said, clicking the remote toward the television. "You got a name, babe?" Dante asked, while flipping through the channels. He stopped at the local news. He wasn't huge on watching the news, but maybe there was some answer to the current mystery on his plate. Laine was only looking at the man, studying his structure. Laine had received the feeling that Dante was somewhat of a jackass, but one hell of a good-looking one. He had the most incredible face structure, the most outstanding eyes. She had never seen anyone like him. But she reminded herself, he's still a jackass. But then again, who is she to make a judgment so quickly?

"My name is Laine and HOLY SHIT THAT'S MY HOUSE!" She yelled, getting up from the couch when she saw her house, smothered in flames on the television.

"What?"

Laine pointed to the television, her eyes wide with alarm and disbelief as she turned back to the TV, her jaw practically dropped to the floor.

"That's _your_ house?" Dante inquired. Laine couldn't even speak. She nodded her mouth still open, shifting her gaze back and forth to Dante from the TV. And then it all started coming back to her. Her childhood, the way she lost her parents, her belongings, her innocence…no, it couldn't be happening again. Was it? It was, and Laine closed her mouth, collapsed onto the couch and felt the tears come. She hated every single moment of it; she hated sitting next to someone she just met and balling her eyes out. But it wasn't just that that made her cry. She hated being unfamiliar with absolutely everything and everyone around her, she hated having an arm injury that wasn't properly taken care of, she hated relieving her youthful trauma and she hated everything else happening at that point.

And Dante? He hated seeing someone cry, and not knowing what the goddamn hell what to do. So he did what his mind kept telling him to do, he did what he thought was right, he "followed his heart" and stood up. "All right, let's go." He said. Laine sniffled and looked up at him, taking her face from her hands and piercing Dante with her deep blue eyes.

"What?"

"You heard me. We're gonna go see what the fuck is going on over there." He clarified. "Maybe I'll even get some answers." He added.


	3. Chapter 3: Trauma

_Chapter 3: Trauma_

Laine was uncomfortable in Dante's car for many reasons.

Number one, the stinging, stretched pain began to infest her shoulder again.

Number two, she was sitting on something hard and oddly shaped.

Number three, she was in a car with a complete stranger.

Still, she cared not for these discomforts. The only thing she could say she wanted was to go home, to interrogate the situation and answer the questions that plagued her mind. But she knew deep inside her, all she really wanted was to wake up, to rouse into reality and to differentiate this nightmare from what was real.

But this was real.

Almost too real, too real for Laine, anyway. She thought back to August 22nd, eighteen years ago. It was coming back to her and she knew it was a nightmare, it had to be. But how could she be in a nightmare, whilst reliving another nightmare? (**Ha-ha, inception!**)

* * *

><p>It was coming back to her, inching closely, invading her thoughts. Eighteen years ago…<p>

She was there. Five years old and frozen, while everything else burned. While her father fought for the life of her mother against something he was incapable of defeating. But he tried, and gave his life as a result. She saw it. A demon had decimated him in less than a minute, throwing a blade right through her dad's—her hero's—torso. He fell to his knees as the blood oozed out of his mouth, his eyes wide as though he was living a nightmare—he was—and fell to the floor, his eyes not closing. She couldn't tell if he was dead. Her mother, she was thrown into the flames, in little detail. Long story short, she burned alive. And she saw it all.

Despite her horror, she was smart. She knew better to not scream, although in her future she regretted making that decision. For her, there was one option, and only one: survival. There was no such thing as death for her, not at that young of an age. She wasn't suicidal after what she'd seen, although her blood was curdling, not suicidal…yet. She maintained silence and watched the demons leave, one turning around and staring at the corpses—or what was left of her parents—silently, and almost apologetically. The flames did not cease to rise or continue though; she did find a way out. The place wasn't completely smothered in flames and a path was left to leave. She left the closet and began to walk.

"Daddy?" she called. "Daddy, are you there?" She called again. She wouldn't leave until she could find her dad, her protector. He didn't call back to her, but she saw him laying there, breathing just barely. His eyes were nearly open, but not quiet closed.

"Daddy? Are you okay?" her tears had dripped on her father, because she knew her mother was gone. But some of those tears had been of hope, wishing her father didn't take his last breaths. Her dad could only lift his arm barely, and held her hand.

"Laine," He said.

"Daddy, I'm scared."

"I know, angel. I'm here still." He reassured her. She wiped her tears and nodded.

"I love you, daddy." She promised him. A small smile grew on his lips but barely. It shrunk too fast. She missed his smile, his big smile. How could all of this have happened?

"I love you, beautiful." He said weakly. And when he looked away, he never looked back. He lied to her. He wasn't here for her anymore. He was gone, and she just couldn't understand. Her relieved cries turned to painful sobs, as she clutched onto her father. She began to have trouble breathing at this point, as the smoke filled her lungs, although she didn't let go, she couldn't. Not yet. She could hear sirens outside her home, but she didn't want to leave. She was stuck here, felt as if it was her responsibility to be here. Even through flames, this place was home.

But finally, the job that had to have been done was done, or else her fate would have been reflective of her parents, her mother specifically. She expected to see a fireman come in and rescue her, but she instead saw someone more familiar. It was her older brother John, who at this point, had been sixteen years old, and he had run through flames to come and rescue her. He knelt before her, holding her head with his strong, masculine hands.

"Laine, are you okay?" he asked, genuinely concerned—masking his panic for her sake.

She wiped a tear and nodded, but looked at the man who brought her into the world, now breathless and gone. John looked at her with apologetic and sorrowful eyes, taking her into his arms, holding her tightly. He didn't say a word, although he picked her up and began walking out. Almost two steps in, John turned around and kneeled, with Laine still in his arms, gripping onto each other tightly. John gently rested his hand over her father's eyes and closed them. Laine's eyes were watery and misty as John scampered through the flames and to the exit, as Laine got her last looks at her home. The place she was born, the place she grew up. Everything went down in a blaze. The only thing that stood was the library.

She couldn't believe it, despite its distance in time. She still denied it, to this day. Eighteen years ago, and she didn't believe anything so horrid could happen on her birthday (so much for the phrase _happy_ birthday). More explicitly, she couldn't believe anything so horrid could ever happen again.

* * *

><p>"Hey. Babe." Dante tried his very hardest to get Laine's attention, but it didn't exactly help that he didn't remember her name, or that she was borderline hallucinating. Dante wasn't all that of a man to quarrel with others and he didn't typically have much concern for others, especially if they were strangers that had no business with him, but he felt genuine concern when he heard Laine whimper softly, clutching onto her wounded shoulder, her neck craned back, her eyes tightly shut.<p>

_Shit…what's her name?_ Dante kept asking himself. "Line." He said finally. "Hey, Line!"

"My name is _Laine_," Laine clarified, bringing her head down. She made an inhaling noise through her teeth, the pain becoming unbearable.

_So that's what it is! I'm gonna have to remember that,_ Dante thought to himself, but merely said, "Yeah, whatever. You holding up okay?" he asked, hands on the wheel, glancing at Laine quickly, her broken, battered and beaten shoulder.

"I'm okay," she lied painfully, looking down at her lap. What the fuck was that she was sitting on? "You need directions to my place, don'tcha?"

If Laine had been paying attention to the road, she would have known why Dante didn't reply to her. She was, however, too much in pain and had already been swept away by the haunting winds of her past to care about what was going on ahead of her, and she continued to stare down as Dante gawked at the sight ahead of him. Not anything he couldn't handle, but sure as hell not anything he anticipated. Demons and explosives—and a lot of them.

"Hold that thought." Dante demanded.


	4. Chapter 4: House of Blues

Chapter 4—House of Blues

"Get down, right now," Dante demanded, stealing his gun from the glove compartment. "Line, I'm not kidding you, _duck._"

"For Chrissake!" Laine yelled. "My name is _Laine_."

Dante accelerated the vehicle, applying real potential strength to his foot, really stepping down on the gas pedal. He concentrated more than usual, straightening his arm out the open window of the car, he looked intently on the repulsive creature that jumped not toward the car, but toward the passenger seat, towards Laine. Dante shot his gun without a hesitation, noting that the demons, for once, hadn't been shooting at the son of Sparda, they had been shooting for Laine. But Dante could only wonder why. Dante wasn't weary of her for two reasons—number one, she was just as confused as he was; two, she had been shot. If she had been secretly affiliated with demons, they wouldn't try and kill her and seriously harm her.

Then again, demons can be real sly.

But still, he couldn't find it in himself to doubt her. There were some people, Dante noticed, that were genuine. Whether it be that they were genuinely confused—Laine—or they were genuinely nice, friendly, and the like, they were true with whom they were. Laine didn't seem deceptive. She was too damn perplexed to be deceptive.

Laine had been oblivious to the demons until she heard the gunshot, which was too familiar to her. She felt déjà vu the sound of the gunshot, and felt a little foolish for looking at her shoulder, wondering if it had been shot or not, but once the sound of a second gunshot impaled the atmosphere, she needn't think twice of ducking and covering. Laine heard quite a few gunshots, close to her, so from Dante mostly, and she didn't have to check to see if she'd been shot again, and finally an explosion. The explosion had been the ultimate cause of the car screeching to the stop, a little recklessly because Dante wasn't all that of a careful driver, and the car turned 180 degrees before completely stopping. Both Dante and Laine were more than grateful that the side of the car closer to the demons had been Dante's, because Dante didn't want to be responsible for Laine's death, and because, as unintentionally selfish as it was, Laine didn't want to die.

_Better you than me_,were her thoughts, because she didn't really regard that the person she referred to as "you" in this statement was the person that saved her life, and was about to save it again.

Dante didn't have time to consciously think, but his subconscious recalled all the times a demon had faced him and said something along the lines of "Son of Sparda," in their deep and inhuman voices, and now would not be an addition to similar events. As much Dante enjoyed attention, the kind his usually received was not his cup of tea, and finally he wasn't the one in the spotlight. Nope, today Dante Sparda was left off the hook. It was a little bit of comical relief to his subconscious, and the overall scenario, that it wasn't him for the first time in a long time.

But he still had to help Laine. He'd kick himself if he didn't.

Dante leaped out of the vehicle, sternly reminding Laine to stay out of danger, whether it isin the car or out—by any means, she needed to keep herself safe. Laine agreed and showed so by nodding her head, not like she had much of a choice but for once she decided to set the stubborn attitude aside and listened to what she was told. Dante had stood in front of the blood-shaded car, his eyes intent on the creatures that crept closer and closer to him and Laine, thinking that Rebellion wasn't the best to use right now, considering the explosives. He had much strength, though he was sure that if bombs were shoved down his throat, he would be blown to bits.

The first demon sprang from the ground, catching Laine off guard. She was glued to the farthest edge of the car, gripping tightly on something cold and smooth; it was the door handle and Laine didn't realize that she was holding it; otherwise she would have refrained from jumping so far back, ultimately opening the door and causing her to fall out. Laine grunted as she hit the ground, her elbows grated into the ground providing all her support. She gasped as she got up, now aware of the pebbles and small stones that penetrated into her soft, dark skin. She quickly got up and maintained a squat behind the car, watching Dante intently as he carefully battled the demons that targeted Laine herself.

"This is too easy," Dante smirked as he fought off the inhumane creatures, one by one, finding pleasure in the death of the demons. Dante was taken in shock, however, when a fiery bundle was launched into the air.

"Holy…" Laine watched in amazement.

Dante smirked and perfected the angle of his gun, pulling the trigger skillfully. And that was all it took—boom, about half the demons were gone. Still, some were left.

"Fireworks!" Laine said in amazement, her eyes watching the fiery bits falling from the sky like rain. Dante turned around, guns in hands, and gave Laine one of those what-the-fuck-did-you-just-say? sorts of looks. She smiled nervously, thinking Dante didn't hear her comment initially, and shrugged her shoulders innocently. Dante merely smirked and continued to fight off the demons, not using Rebellion once.

Laine noticed the man was a skilled slayer, like he's been doing it for years. Almost professional, it seemed.

She wondered why.

* * *

><p>"I'm just glad those bastards didn't use their shit on my car." Dante said, air flowing through his silvery locks as he steered the car. The night was far from beautiful, though it wasn't horrendous either. Simply dark, was what it was. He thought of the debt he was in and how terrible it would be to have to pay for repairs to his car or even worse, buy a new one. Little did he know, though, would the young woman sitting in his car right beside him save his broke ass. "They must really want you gone if they resorted to bombs. They're usually just using their greasy hands."<p>

Laine listened intently, holding onto the seat of the car, white-knuckled tight, holding her breath as the air infested her lungs. _Isn't he driving a little fast?_ She wondered. That was irrelevant, however. She was direct on asking about his gunmanship and fighting abilities. Still, it managed to slip her mind at Dante's statement about explosives and wanting Laine dead.

"Why do they want me dead so bad?" Laine asked, shifting a final time because of the oddly shaped hunk of somethin' that she'd been sitting on for so long. She set a hand palm-down on the edge of the seat and raised herself, all weight on the straight arm, she reached under her bottom searching for what she'd been sitting on. Dante glanced over at the corner of his eye and looked straight again, altogether asking what she'd been doing. Laine merely slanted her lips, arching an eye at the man before reaching into her back pocket and taking out the object.

Of course.

It was her locket.

She leaned back in the car seat, holding the pendant eye-level to her, dangling from the gold chain. A heart, it was, though when it opened, there was no picture, though a clock. The clock ticked almost perfectly and oddly, although Laine never noticed, needed battery replacement or anything of the like.

"Beats me," Dante said, in answer to Laine's question. "That's what we need to find out. Morrison will have the answer soon enough."

"Morrison, huh? He's a nice guy. You don't have any idea yourself, though, right? About why demons are after me?"

Dante licked his lips, absent-mindedly, and refrained from looking at the tanned woman beside him. "Other than you doing something to piss them off, I wouldn't know. Everyone's got a different story." He replied.

Laine sighed and leaned her head against the car seat, looking out to the right. There were no windows in the car, being a convertible. Still, Laine enjoyed pretending there were windows. So many thoughts clouded her mind, none of which, she realized, were of no use of asking or simply irrelevant to the now. She wondered if she was able to work again, if she would get paid. She wondered if she'd ever see those rotten doctors again, if she would rather be attacked by demons or see those bastards' faces. She wondered if anyone even noticed she was gone, if they ever would. She wondered why these events had happened to _her_ of all people, what Jane was doing at the very second. She had no answer to any of them, and she was fine with the mysteriousness. For once she felt comfortable as the wind ran through her deep chocolate strands of hair. Sure, the thoughts were there, but she cared for none of them. There was no silence because of the way the wind whispered and there was a revving of an engine, turning of wheels, but she heard them not. Just the wind, not much for thoughts. The more plentiful they became, the fainter they got. Soon, there was nothing. Just her staring to the right, listening to the sounds of air and a car.

Dante, on the other hand had one thing on his mind, and one thing only. Forget the girl being attacked by demons and the recent events occurring over the past few days. He was fucking hungry.

_I could go for a strawberry sundae…maybe even a pizza._ He hadn't eaten in a day or so. Too long for him to survive another day without getting too cranky. Not that he wasn't cranky enough, as it was.

"Is this your house…uh…"

"You know what. Forget it, if you need me, just shout 'hey ugly!' Don't worry, I'll respond."

"No seriously. Your name is Laine, right?"

"My house is just a few blocks from here." Laine grumbled, sick of the conversation she was enduring. She changed it, and decided she would as fast as she could, just until Dante could remember her goddamn name. Jesus. It was only five letters.

* * *

><p>Dante and Laine stood before Laine's house, now burnt and black from the fire. Laine and Dante exchanged glances, looking up and down at each other, respectively, and back at the burnt house. Dante was a little surprised to hear Laine's first comment; it said a lot about her in general. Snarky, blatant and somewhat asinine; it also told Dante that this girl wasn't like most ones—even in the biggest of situations, she managed to get a kick out of it and leaving the "drama queen" role behind. It was a lot like the "fireworks" comment she had mentioned earlier and Dante didn't bother much to think about it, but the foolishness behind comments such as these eased the situation and sort of brought him to find amusement in the girl beside him, in Laine. When she said it, Dante looked at her in surprise, and furrowed his brows.<p>

"Well. Front door still looks good."

Dante followed Laine behind her as she walked, using her as his guide. There wasn't a particular reason why _Dante_ was here, although maybe he could find something, maybe a bell or something, that could be the cause of her predicament. He didn't expect it, and he didn't feel like going snooping around, though he knew he would, in a non-snoopy manner.

Rather a "curious" one.

Moments later, when both Dante and Laine were in the burnt residence, the first thing that caught Dante's was the many framed pictures, some of which that were hung upon the blue walls, others that had been set firmly on flat surfaces. Laine and Dante decided, while in the car, that if Laine was to live in Dante's place, she should bring some of her basic belongings, so as Laine walked up the stairs without a word, Dante started to look at her photos to keep him occupied.

The first picture Dante lifted off of the table seemed to be of Laine, as a child, and a teenager. The teenager, to Dante, looked ominously familiar, as if Dante had known him before but, not familiar enough. Dante put the picture down and scanned the others with his eyes, most the pictures consisting of Laine as a small child, and someone else—most likely a father, or mother. Dante wondered why there was none of Laine of her current age. She'd looked like she'd been sixteen to Dante, and he couldn't tell how old she was in any of these pictures. She was probably two years old in all of them, though she was standing and walking. She was probably, then, just a fast learner. Or she aged like a snail.

Still, Dante found himself noticing the color of Laine's skin and that it was dark since birth. He admired it, a little, that she didn't make too many changes to herself, at the same time he didn't like it, because honestly, she wasn't his cup of tea.

For one thing, she was tiny; her breasts were smaller than Dante's liking, her ass was flat as a pancake, she was about as tall as a mushroom and above all things, she scrubbed. She didn't wear make-up and she wasn't, by any means, beautiful. She had potential, of course, since her facial features corresponded with her face shape and more of such, though she had been so dull, so… plain. She was pretty, cute if you please, but beautiful, desirable? Not quite.

"Oh goodness gracious, put those down," Laine laughed from the stairway. Dante looked up at her, a briefcase clenched between her fingers and palm. She was smiling at him, and she had a damn nice smile. Dante noticed, for one among many things that didn't physically attract him to Laine, she had a thin upper lip. But it worked out fairly nicely with her kind of smile. Most people Dante met had no smile or a fake one, but Laine's smile was different. She was a little snotty, but she had a terrific smile. Who cares if a girl is a brat as long as she has a swell smile? Not Dante.

"Embarrassed?"

"Please, if you want to see embarrassing, go ahead and look at my yearbooks."

Dante smirked at Laine before diverting his gaze back toward one certain picture. There was a man who looked exactly like Laine, and a woman behind him. The man had been holding Laine with his arms out, almost as if attacking her in a friendly manner and the woman laughed in the back as Laine and the man smiled at the camera, grins wide with joy and innocent happiness. Dante picked the picture up solemnly, and glanced at Laine.

"Your old man, huh?"

Laine's smile had now disappeared and transformed into a grave and almost heart-broken expression. Something fit Laine's face so nicely about somber expressions like such, which was most likely why she had such a stunning smile; she hardly used it and it was nice to see a change on her. There was something strange about how—physically—accustomed to Laine's face was when it came to sobriety, and for some reason, Dante didn't like it. She looked better smiling, why didn't she do it often? Nevertheless, Laine touched the frame with her fingertips and gently removed the photograph from Dante's larger hands, the tips of her fingers caressing the picture. She could feel tears build up in her eyes although she tried her hardest to swallow them back. She gulped, not answering Dante and then stuffed it in her suitcase, not opening it fully.

"Let's just go." She said.

Dante didn't know why he felt so guilty afterward, but it was the first guilt he'd felt in a long time.

**A/N:** Gah that took me so long to do, and I don't know why. I got so lazy in writing this chapter, I gotta apologize and I hope you guys don't mind very much. The next one will be more interesting, I promise. Thanks for reading so far, and leave me feedback if you can. I'd like to know how I'm doing (constructive criticism is ALWAYS welcome!)


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